The morning hours flew by in a blur of activity.
The rhythm of keyboard clicks had grown uneven, broken up by Dan Heng and Bronya murmuring notes to themselves and the rapid flipping of technical documents.
There was also Kiana's frustrated "ugh, the lighting here is completely wrong," and Mei's quiet "would this work better?"
Stelle and March 7th had their heads practically pressed together over a single screen, pointing and talking over each other about games from the market.
Every so often they'd burst into "what about this one!" and "too clichéd!"
Arthur, meanwhile, had sunk entirely into his own world.
He was organizing the notes on his laptop while sketching out the key scenes for the prologue chapter: the rooftop encounter at Senba Academy, the awe-inspiring moment of the Hyperion's arrival, and other critical design points.
His pen moved quickly across the paper, pausing now and then as he furrowed his brow, then kept going.
Until a smell impossible to ignore, impossibly good, began drifting from somewhere in the corner of the office. It spread in slow, lazy threads, winding its way into every pair of nostrils currently buried in work.
"Grumble..."
Someone's stomach gave in first and made itself known, like a signal going off.
Kiana was the first to snap her head up, blue eyes lighting up with startling brightness. She took a long, deliberate sniff.
"What's that smell? It smells incredible!"
Mei, it turned out, had slipped away from her desk at some point and was busy at a small counter near the window. A portable induction cooker and a small pot had appeared there, along with several containers of rinsed and prepped ingredients.
Bronya stood beside her, cleaver in hand, slicing carrots into even, thin rounds with brisk, steady strokes.
Thwack, thwack, thwack. Precise and rhythmic.
"Mei! Bronya! What are you making? It smells so good!"
Kiana darted over like a cat that had caught a whiff of fish.
"Lunch," Mei replied without looking up, her attention fixed on the simmering broth.
She scooped up a small spoonful, tasted it, then took the carrot slices Bronya had just finished and added them in.
"Everyone's been working so hard lately, and takeout really isn't cutting it, nutrition-wise. So I brought some ingredients from home. Bronya offered to help with the prep."
Bronya gave a quiet "mm" without breaking her rhythm, already moving on to the leafy greens beside her.
There was something oddly musical about her movements: efficient, unhurried, calm. Paired with Mei's focused, gentle composure, the two of them made for a strangely harmonious picture.
"Yes! Thank you, Mei! Thank you, Bronya!"
March 7th cheered and rushed over as well, gazing into the pot with wide, longing eyes.
Stelle said nothing, but her feet carried her over on their own, gaze locked onto the ingredients and the thick, fluffy tamagoyaki Mei was lifting out of an insulated bag, dotted with neatly scattered green onions.
Dan Heng paused his typing, took off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He glanced toward the little pot with its rising steam. The tension in his face eased, just slightly.
Arthur only then surfaced from the scene breakdowns filling his head. His stomach, belatedly catching up, began to protest.
He looked over at that warm, if oddly situated, little cooking scene, and something from his memory surfaced.
Back when the studio had been in slightly better shape, when overtime wasn't quite so relentless: Mei had occasionally brought ingredients in. She'd team up with Bronya, who had a precise, almost mechanical touch with prep work, and put together a simple lunch on that same little counter.
It had always tasted wonderful. The kind of thing that could momentarily revive a body and mind worn down by long hours.
But then, as the project failed again and again and the pressure kept building, he, or rather the version of him that had existed before, started pulling all-nighters as a matter of course. Meals became something to get through, not enjoy.
The lunches Mei brought would sit untouched until they went cold. After enough times, she stopped bringing them. Everyone else gradually resigned themselves to rotating through whatever questionable takeout happened to be available.
Which made him wonder: how had Kiana and March 7th, two people who lived for good food, stuck around through all of it? Habit and loyalty, maybe, but Mei's cooking, surfacing every so often like a reminder of better things, had probably been no small part of it. A genuine asset to team morale, if you thought about it.
Arthur glanced over at Kiana, who was staring at the pot with an expression that was dangerously close to drooling, and felt he understood completely.
As for Stelle: his gaze shifted to the silver-haired girl who was discreetly poking at the edge of the tamagoyaki with one fingertip.
Her tastes ran to the specific. Beyond a baffling, almost devoted fixation on trash can designs, she had a clear and abiding fondness for baseball bats as instruments of physical persuasion.
There was a miniature metal trash can model somewhere in the corner of the office that she'd apparently found somewhere, polished to a shine, and kept as a treasured possession.
The previous version of him had apparently gotten her on board, at least in part, by dangling the promise that "we could design a secret character who uses a baseball bat as their ultimate weapon." Whether he'd said it in full sincerity or not, that prospect was looking increasingly distant.
"Almost ready. Just a moment longer, everyone."
Mei's calm voice pulled Arthur back. She and Bronya moved in easy, practiced coordination, and before long, two vegetable dishes, a soup, the tamagoyaki, and rice had been divided neatly into clean containers.
The smell deepened.
"Food's ready!"
Kiana grabbed her portion before anyone else could, found a reasonably clean corner of the floor, settled down cross-legged, and dug in.
Between mouthfuls she offered muffled, enthusiastic commentary. "Mmph! So good! Mei's cooking never disappoints! And Bronya, the carrots are perfect!"
Everyone else collected their portions.
Dan Heng thanked them quietly and carried his back to his desk. Stelle and March 7th squeezed together and continued their low-voiced debate, now redirected toward how to improve lunch next time. Bronya returned to her corner, container in hand, and ate in careful, unhurried bites, quiet and attentive as always.
Mei set the last container, the largest and most generously filled of them all, gently down in front of Arthur.
"You've been working yourself hard, Captain. Make sure you eat enough."
Her voice was soft.
"Thank you, Mei."
Arthur looked at the meal in front of him, fragrant and beautifully presented, the tamagoyaki garnished with carefully placed green onions. Something in his chest loosened.
He picked up his chopsticks and tried the braised beef brisket.
It had been simmered until tender, the tomato's gentle tartness cutting through the richness just right.
Warmth spread from his stomach outward through his whole body, and even the exhaustion from the sleepless nights seemed to lift a little.
He looked up. Around him, people sat or stood in that cluttered, worn-down office, each of them eating this simple, carefully made meal in their own quiet or lively way.
No fancy restaurant, no comfortable table. And yet, in that moment, something close and real, the kind of thing you feel around people who actually matter to you, seemed to take on a more solid shape, carried along on the smell of the food.
Kiana swallowed her last bite with an expression of deep contentment and patted her stomach. "Ahh, I'm back among the living! Mei, make extra tamagoyaki next time! And Bronya, could you slice the carrots just a little thinner?"
Bronya looked up at her, said nothing, and calmly transferred the two remaining carrot slices from her own container to Kiana's.
"Hey! That's not what I meant!"
"Don't waste food," Bronya said evenly.
Mei lifted a hand to cover her smile.
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~ Push the story forward with your Power Stones